


the wreckage of stars (becomes me)

by SparkleMoose



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: ... and here comes my teenage love of assassins and thieves, ANYWAY THEY ARE GONNA KISS AND ALMA IS A PRICKLY CHARMING BASTARD, M/M, Thieves & Assassins, Time Travel, Worldbuilding, but he soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:00:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21691087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkleMoose/pseuds/SparkleMoose
Summary: Alma is certain that his family's dealings with the royal family have ended.He's wrong. But if they want his help, they have to be willing to show him the money first.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 121





	the wreckage of stars (becomes me)

Alma has been able to See for as long as he can remember. As a child he was told by his mother that it was a curse. That the fact they knew the future didn't mean that if they chose to change it that that change would be good. Or that it would even change anything at all. As a child he was told to keep his Sight safe and hidden and so he did. And his mother only brought it up to teach him how to use it in fights. How to enter a trance-like state where he could see the future just before it happened. He could use this ability to dodge and attack, to feint and defend. And while it took a while to come out of the Trance, it had saved his life more than once.

It's only later he learns that those abilities were meant to be used for the good of Lucis.

And he laughs.

* * *

One would assume, that over the course of a lifetime, Alma would be used to disappointments. That he would find a way to grin and bare the brunt of dissatisfaction.

Those who assumed such things would be right. Alma is used to being disappointed, can weather it like the most turbulent of storms.

“You think I can accept this?” Alma laughs, dangling the man’s wallet in front of him, “You think I can accept a measly two hundred thousand gil as payment?”

“That’s all we’re giving you,” The man, an agent of the Empire if Alma had to guess, says. Arms crossed over his shoulders he looks as though he’s the type of man that is used to getting his way. The Agent, whose name Alma never bothered to remember, looks down on Alma disapprovingly.

“We could tell Lucis about your gang of rogues hiding out here,” Agent says, voice haughty enough that it makes Alma want to bash the other man’s head in, “Who knows what the King would do if he found out about your little gang of thieves and murderers.”

Alma grins at Agent, sharp as a knife and leans up into the man’s space. “Listen well, you blond muscle-head,” Alma says, his voice honey sweet and dripping with poison, “If you think you can threaten my people, my little pickpockets and thieves, then you best leave while I let you.”

Agent’s hand rushes out to push Alma back. Alma catches the hand before it hits him in the chest and still grinning at Agent’s squeezes. Agent yowls. Alma feels bones crunch beneath his fingers and it’s only then that he lets the mans hand go.

Rocking back on his heels, Alma’s grin turns sinister. “Leave.” In that moment his voice is night and thunder. “Leave, and tell your officers I’ll consider it.”

* * *

Alma dreams that night. He dreams of a thousand swords and five thousand more specters. Alma dreams of the blade his mother wore once, the black royal black and the hilt Lucian blue. He still remembers the day she came to him with a gift, two daggers forged from the blade that once had been her pride and joy. He had been honored then, to receive such a gift.

He still is. Alma knows the blades his mother forged for him were wrought from the metal that made up the Protector’s Blade, the badge of office that announced to the world that she had been the Sword of the King. She was supposed to have Regis’ Sword, had been friends with the Prince before the King had killed her father and cast her aside.

Traitor’s, they were called, because they would not bend to the King’s will.

Because they wouldn’t slaughter innocences.

Alma dreams of swords and oaths.

The dream turns dark, and there is the Chancellor of Niflheim sitting on the King’s throne.

Accursed he is, Alma knows, and watches with a detached sort of interest as the Prince enters the room. A war play, he thinks, that’s what this is. A war waged between man and god and the gods win.

As they always do.

Alma watches as Regis calls on the ghosts of his ancestors. He watches as Noctis’ ancestor’s slaughter their child and feels only the slightest pangs of sympathy. He’s seen this play before and this doesn’t faze him.

Noctis dies.

The sun rises and the scene shifts once again.

Noctis lays sleeping in his room, Alma blinks and leans over him to see if he can figure out what’s changed.

This hasn’t happened before.

Noctis’ eyes open and brilliant blue stares at Alma’s shocked green eyes.

“Who-”

The dream fades.

* * *

Alma does not, in fact, consider it. Rather he - thanks to the rather ingenious network of rogues he and his mother had set up - send word to the Citadel. And though Alma knows that he shouldn’t hope that that will be the end of it he allows himself to believe that a year after they’ve sent the message to Insomnia that that’s the end of it.

It turns out it isn’t. Word reaches him of a blond, blue-eyed and freckled boy asking hanging around known drop sites. It bothers him, to have someone who knows where their drop sites are so casually flaunt it, it’s as though the blond wants to be known.

A note sent to the right person and the next day when Alma walks into his audience room he finds the blond tied up and unfazed.

Interesting, Alma thinks, That someone so young would be so unconcerned about his whereabouts.

“Let’s get to it then,” Alma says, turning a chair around and sitting on it in front of the blond, Prompto Argentum the ID in his wallet read, and smiling. “You know that I know that you wanted to speak with me. What does the Lucian Prince want?”

Prompto grins, cold underneath the veil of nervousness he wears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Prompto’s voice is coated with nerves and it makes Alma laugh loudly.

“Don’t be coy,” Alma demands, voice reeking of amusement, “You and I both know that you’re one of the Prince’s associates. We both know that you weren’t hanging around the drop sites by accident.” Something like amusement flashes in Prompto’s eyes before it’s veiled by curiosity.

“This could be a coincidence,” Prompto says, “I’m a photographer, maybe you just put your drop sites in really pretty spots!”

“Because behind the dumpster of a Crow’s Nest is the best place to take a photo.”

“Rich people have weird tastes, you know that don’t you?”

“I do,” Alma agrees, leaning forward and crossing his legs in front of the chair, “Indulge me, however, and tell me what your little prince is looking for.”

Something anger enters Prompto’s eyes when Alma calls Noctis ‘little prince’.

Alma stores that information away for later. It could prove useful.

“He’s not looking for anything,” Prompto says, “He just wants to meet the person who saved his life. That’s all.”

“And I’m sure he knows that I’ve no interest in meeting or working for him.”

“He thinks you might change your mind.” Something dark flashes in Prompto’s eyes. “After all, better us than Niflheim, isn’t that right Sword of Lucis?”

Alma stills, the title his family had bore for centuries baring down on him with the weight of a tempest. He recovers quickly, and pastes a charming smile on his face.

“Come now, Prompto dear,” Alma purrs, “We both know I am the furthest thing from nobility.” There’s a blade in Alma’s voice, and one at his side and in his boot if it turns out he needs to dispose of Prompto. 

“Your family line says different.” And Alma wonders how somehow who is only nineteen can be so cunning.

Then again, Alma himself is only a year older.

“Hmmm, well, my family line doesn’t dictate what I do,” Alma says, sliding off his chair and kicking it to the side. “If that’s all, be a dear and tell your prince that I don’t like being spied on. While you’re at it, tell your friend-” the word drips with disdain. “That I would prefer a face to face conversation next time. I’m the only one allowed to skulk in shadows around here.”

Prompto raises an eyebrow, for once a genuine emotion appearing on his face. “You know he’s here, then.”

Alma throws his head back and laughs. “Of course I do. It’s hard to miss the signature of Lucian magic and your friend has veiled himself in it.”

Just as he finishes speaking, a figure steps out of the shadows. Scarred and blind in his right eye Alma knows what the Prince’s Hand looks like.

“So.” The Hand Speaks in an accented voice, noble and deadly and Ignis moves like someone aware of his own power. “The heresy was correct.”

“Oh?” Alma shifts positions slightly, ready to run or fight at a moment's notice. He thinks it would be better to kill the two in front of him rather than run, if they know what he can do, what he’s capable of seeing, of feeling then he’d better tie up those loose ends. On the other hand, killing not one, but two close friends of the prince would put not only him but his entire outlet on the Citadel’s Most Wanted list. There is another option, the poison held in his ring. Fast-acting and lethal it would kill him before the others had a chance to take him in.

Alma smiles at Ignis and gets a smirk in return. “You must have quite the high opinion of me, Lord Scientia. I’m hardly anyone noteworthy.”

Prompto snorts. “Hardly anyone noteworthy. You took over one of the largest criminal outlets in Lucis and mobilized them against the Empire. And he says he’s hardly noteworthy.”

“My mother did most of the work,” Alma says flippantly, “I merely maintain order.”

“The Sword of the King turning to thievery and murder to survive,” Ignis says dryly, “How…bewildering.”

Alma’s smile turns poisnous. “Why,” he says, “I wonder what you would do if your King threw you aside. The man you’ve bled and killed for. The man who you swore to give your life to. I wonder what the two of you would do if you’re lovely little princeling decided you weren’t worth it anymore. And tossed you in the gutter.” Both of the other men bristle at the words, Alma keeps going. “I imagine you would die. After all, only the brave find a way to survive in this world.”

“Watch your tongue,” Ignis snaps.

“Why?” Alma asks innocently, all too aware that Prompto has freed himself of his bonds, “Are you going to chain me like a dog to His Highness?”

“You know nothing about him,” Prompto all but hisses and Alma can feel Prompto’s presence at his side, “Don’t you dare speak about Noctis like that.”

“I understand. I’m supposed to believe that the two of you are so useful to royal family that they wouldn’t dare toss you aside.” A wolfish grin breaks out over Alma’s features. “My mother and my grandfather thought the same. I’m sure the two of you are well aware of how that turned out.”

“Noctis isn’t Mors.” Come Ignis’ smooth voice. “Neither is Regis.” 

“And yet the king let his father throw my mother out simply because she stood by her father. A shame. We were quite useful.”

“We know, that’s why we’ve come with an offer.”

Alma laughs. “An offer from royalty! How intriguing.” Alma spins on his heel and heads toward the door. “Come on then, let’s go discuss this offer of yours.”

Alma has no intention of accepting the offer. He has no desire to work with lapdogs for the royal family, yet it couldn’t hurt to hear them out.

Could it?

* * *

“Ten million gil.” Alma makes sure not to let how impressed he is show on his face or in his voice. “You want me to work for you lot for ten million gil.”

“Your family has- certain abilities that would make you a worthy ally.” Ignis doesn’t sound please with the fact he has to make this offer.

Alma can’t blame him, Alma isn’t a very likable person.

“I’m sure this offer is open for neogation,” Alma says pleasantly, “I have some terms I would like to be met before I think of agreeing to anything.”

“Name them and we’ll see.”

“The first, is that I will not be serving as your prince’s Sword. I’ve no desire to be known as such. The second, that I have at least some time to set things in order before leaving for Insomnia. The third, that I will be released from my service when we find the ending that you are looking for.”

“The ending?” Prompto asks, “What do you mean?”

“We all know you aren’t looking for an item like most who come to me are.” Alma props his elbow up on the table and rests his chin in his hand. “You want to prevent your prince from dying. Admirable. But a rather difficult task without the aid of a Seer, no?”

“How do you know?” Ignis asks, voice wary.

“I saw it. Night falls and when the Chosen King dies dawn will reign. I’ve seen many, many things.”

“Then you know what happens.”

“I do.”

“You know what we have to stop it.”

“Hm. No. I don’t particularly care about the fate of this planet.”

“How can you be so- apathetic?” Prompto asks, “This is the fate of the world we are talking about here.”

“Yeah.” Alma nods. “But my investment in that depends on whether or not I’m ready to die. Prompto dear, I am always ready to die.”

Ignis raises an eyebrow. “Side effect of the trade?”

“Indeed.”

“Will you help us?”

“Are my conditions going to be met?”

“They are reasonable. We will have no problem accommodating them.”

Alma nods. “Give me half now and half when we’re done.”

“Half when you find us our first lead,” Ignis challenges.

“A quarter now, another quarter when I get you your first lead.”

Ignis nods. “Meet me in the ally behind the markets. I’ll have your money.”

Alma grins. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

* * *

They leave, and he gets the feeling they don't like him.

* * *

Oddly, it doesn’t take long for Alma to pass command off to some other unfortunate soul and erase himself from Lestallum. The black dye washes down the drain and his hair returns to it’s natural red with only the minimal amount of coaxing.

Grinning, he steps off of the steps leading to the hotel the Citadel had booked for him and is met by two men dressed in black. Alma recognizes one as a Glaive, Nyx Ulric, if Alma remembers correctly from the calendar one of his apprentices, was giggling over, and Cor the Immortal.

“Oh dear,” Alma says, offering the two a charming grin, “All this protection for little ol’ me? I’m flattered.”

Alma knows they aren’t here to protect him. They are here to make sure that he doesn’t run off.

He doesn’t plan to, it would be too much of a hassle to run from the Citadel for the rest of his life.

Besides, he does his best not to break business deals. It’s bad for his health and his reputation.

**Author's Note:**

> okay so, to clarify somethings, mors didn't know that the line of swords could see the future because it was a tightly held secret. the bros only know because time travel shit.
> 
> more will be explained later on.


End file.
